


Your Lips Take Control

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Bi!Shane, Dancing, First Kiss, Gay Bar, Get together fic, M/M, Pining, Podfic Welcome, Ryan has a Gay Panic but it's all Chill, bi!ryan, gratuitous references to 80s music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-21 23:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Ryan is a little, kinda, sorta crushing on Shane. Which is fine, really. It’s chill. It’s all cool.





	Your Lips Take Control

**Author's Note:**

> here we go, my first entry for august's [shyan scavenger hunt](https://shyanscavengerhunt.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> i decided to start off w/ the prompt 'glory hole,' cuz i went to a gay bar last night and just got incredible inspired (altho to my knowledge the gay bar i went to did not have a gloryhole in any of its bathrooms). this didn't totally go the direction i wanted it to (i wanted more smut and less feelings, but alas)
> 
> anyway! big thanks to hannah as always for beta'ing, i truly can't do this w/o her. 
> 
> enjoy!

“C’mon, Ryan, you look like you’ve never been to a gay bar before,” Shane taunts as they stroll up to the front door. Above them, the name of the bar shines in neon letters: _THE GLORY HOLE_.  

“Because I haven’t,” Ryan snaps back. He holds his ID up for the bouncer and Shane does the same, and then they’re waved inside. Ryan looks to the bar immediately, but Shane yanks him over to a nearby counter.

Ryan watches as Shane holds out his right arm to the man behind the counter and gets stamped— _I knew you’d look_ , it reads under the blacklight. Ryan shuffles forward for the same treatment, and as he peers at the stamp, Shane steers him toward an empty table. It’s tall with no stools, so they both lean against the edge.

“You’ve never been?” Shane asks again, incredulous. “That’s a sin.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man.”

The music is heavy and loud, and Michael Jackson’s voice filters around them—

_I want to love you, pretty young thing  
You need some lovin’, tender loving care_

—but it’s surprisingly uncrowded. It’s warm and sweat is already prickling at the back of Ryan’s neck, but he can feel himself relaxing.

“Buy me a drink,” he says to Shane.

Shane smirks at him. “Alright, but I get to pick.”

That’s fair, and Ryan tells him so. He stays at the table as he watches Shane amble off into the light crowd and work his way to the bar.

Alone, Ryan takes in the atmosphere around him. There’s a pool table near the door, with a plush curved couch full of people watching the pool game in play. At the other end of the bar, fresh air flows in through the garage door that’s open, speaking to the bar’s industrial neighborhood. Tables are scattered here and there, and Ryan watches people come and go through a hallway beside the bar, presumably to the dance floor.

Shane is back in record time with two large drinks in his hand. Each glass has a little umbrella sticking out of it, along with a tiny plastic sword spearing a cherry. Shane slides one glass over to Ryan with a grin.

“Double Malibu pineapples,” he says triumphantly. “Start ya off easy.”

Ryan rolls his eyes but takes a dutiful sip all the same. It _is_ an easy drink; the coconut of the Malibu masks the taste of alcohol, and the sour punch of pineapple makes Ryan’s mouth water. They each pluck their sword-speared cherries and toast them before pulling the fruit from the swords and popping them into their mouths. For a few minutes, Ryan stares at Shane and Shane stares at the crowd around them, and they suck down their drinks like they’ll die otherwise.

“Another?” Shane asks once his own glass is empty.

Ryan looks down at his and holds up a finger. He plucks the straw and umbrella from his drink and abandon them on the table before knocking back the rest of his drink. He pushes the glass back over to Shane and nods. “Another,” he agrees. He picks up the umbrella again and, after a moment’s consideration, sticks it behind his ear.

Shane smiles at him—not mocking, for once—and nods. “Be right back.” And then he’s gone again, and Ryan watches him leave.

He thinks back to their conversation as they walked in, and barely resists the urge to cringe.

He’s never been to a gay bar for a multitude of reasons.

Namely, he’s been scared. Prior to six months ago, he wasn’t even _out_. There had just been something terrifying about the idea of going to a gay bar when he was still figuring himself out.

(And so what if ‘figuring himself out’ took a couple years? Like, since college, when it was all ‘experimenting’ and nothing serious? Better late than never, Ryan thinks.)

It sounds so dumb now, but Ryan recognizes the fear he had before.

Fear that he’d walk into a gay bar and people would just _know_ , like they’d see the word QUEER stamped across his forehead like the stamp on his arm. Fear that he’d find someone there, someone to connect with, and wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Fear of himself, and how he was changing.

“You look _way_ too serious,” Shane says, voice equally solemn as he returns. Two more drinks, just as large but bright pink, are on the table. “Drink up, cuz then we’re gonna dance.”

The sweat on Ryan’s neck prickles again. “I don’t know if that’s—?”

“Ryan.” Shane looks at him seriously. “We’re here to have fun, right?”

“Right.”

“Then we’re gonna dance.” Shane leans back and sips at his drink. “It’s been a couple hours since dinner so the drinks should hit you plenty hard.”

Ryan looks down at his own drink and nods to himself. “Yeah, okay.” He takes a sip and puckers his lips at the tart taste of cranberry that washes over his tongue. It’s followed rapidly by the sting of vodka and it burns on the way down his throat.

Shane grins at him again, and once more they lapse into silence. They sip the drinks leisurely as they people watch. A few scattered people dance on this side of the bar, most of them either seat-dancing or at least sticking close to their table. Ryan takes in some of the more outrageous outfits—a girl in booty shorts and white fishnet stockings that glow under the blacklight, someone in a large gothic dress that bounces with tulle with every step they take—and idly wishes he were that brave.

“I could never rock that,” he says with a nod to the girl in the stockings. He shakes his head a little mournfully. “I’d look ridiculous.”

Shane’s lips twist as he watches the girl dance. “I dunno. Maybe not the fishnets, but the booty shorts, sure.”

Ryan snorts around his next sip and coughs. “No way,” he shakes his head again and aims a playful kick at Shane’s shin.

“I’m serious!” Shane says around a laugh. “The only thing that’s stopping you is _you_ , dude.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, even if he knows it’s true. “Whatever,” he says. “Hurry up and finish your drink.”

Shane pointedly glances at Ryan’s own drink, still half full, but doesn’t say anything. Ryan watches him wrap his lips around the neon green straw and suck intently.

Ryan’s neck burns for an entirely separate reason than the heat of the bar.

They finish their drinks at the same time, and Ryan shoves his glass at Shane again. “Maybe one more?” He asks.

Shane raises an eyebrow. “You seemed so eager a second ago.”

Ryan ignores the flare of heat that ignites when Shane says that and instead shrugs. “One more,” he says. “Then I think I’ll be ready to dance.”

Shane rolls his eyes but holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright. But you get the round after this, Bergara.” With that, Shane is gone yet again. He drops their glasses by the bussing station before getting in line for the third time. He turns and looks at Ryan and flips him the bird.

Ryan returns the gesture before pulling out his phone to thumb through his apps. He doesn’t even pay attention to the posts that scroll past his eyes on Instagram; his mind is whirring with activity even as he feels the effect of the double Malibu pineapple and what he assumes was a double vodka cranberry start to seep into him.

So, maybe, just possibly, his whole ‘coming out’ was spurred on by an entirely separate revelation. A revelation that Ryan is a little, kinda, sorta crushing on Shane. Which is fine, really. It’s chill. It’s all cool. It helped, if anything. The crush had pushed Ryan into action, even if he still hasn’t actually acted on said crush. It had pushed him to admit, at the very least, that he’s definitely not straight.

Shane’s reaction to him coming out (a mellow, “cool, I’m bi,” as they drove to the next Unsolved location) had helped, too.

Ryan is still lost in his thoughts when Shane returns.

“Seriously, man, you’re supposed to check your deep, intrusive thoughts at the door. It’s the rule.” He lays out a set of four shots, dark brown on the bottom and foamy tan at the top, each with a healthy dollop of whip cream.

Ryan raises an eyebrow. He reaches out a finger and takes a swipe of whip cream.

“Four blowjobs,” Shane announces with a flourish of his hands. “Two each. And then we’re gonna dance, no matter what.”

“I don’t see why you’re so eager to dance,” Ryan remarks as he pulls two of the shots closer to him. “You’re shit at dancing.”

Shane raises a shot in a mock toast. “That’s the fun part,” he says, almost cryptically. Then he knocks back the shot while Ryan watches. Shane’s eyes shut as he does it and Ryan takes the split-second opportunity to watch Shane’s throat flex, his adam’s apple bob.

As Shane finishes his first shot, Ryan hurries to catch up. He pounds both shots in rapid succession and comes up for air to Shane staring at him, amused.

“Bottoms up,” Shane says before polishing off his second shot. He gathers all four shot glasses into his nimble hands. “When I return,” he declares in some weird, really bad rendition of a British accent, “we dance.”

Ryan follows at his heels. “Let’s get this over with,” he says, tugging at Shane’s shirt once the glasses are dropped at the bussing station.

“Eager,” Shane says again. “Awesome.” While Ryan wouldn’t exactly describe the look on Shane’s face as a _leer_ , it comes pretty close.

Ryan can feel the blush bleeding across his skin but he follows Shane to the dance floor. It’s busy but not overcrowded. The girl with the fishnet stockings seems to be making her way around the room, grinding on whoever is into it. There’s a few couples scattered around and they sway together under the strobing lights.

It’s very lowkey, Ryan thinks. He murmurs this to Shane under the thrum of music.

Shane grins. “It’s great,” he says, then he’s tugging Ryan into the (mild) fray and starting to _shimmy_. Ryan watches in something like abject horror as Shane dances—the worst part is, he’s not actually _that_ bad at it. He’s still got that wacky-waving inflatable arm man quality to him, but he moves without reservation or inhibition, and Ryan feels distinctly out of place.

“C’mon!” Shane hollers as the song starts to change. “Get into it!” He moves closer to Ryan, _dances_ closer to Ryan, and Ryan swallows nervously.

_My baby, he don’t talk sweet, he ain’t got much to say_

Shane whoops with delight. “How can you resist the call of Deniece Williams!” Then he’s reaching for Ryan’s hands and pulling him into some kind of dance. It’s the kind that makes Ryan think of high school, of bouncing around a gymnasium with his friends; it’s loose-limbed and messy but it’s fun, undeniably so.

“That’s it!” Shane shouts encouragingly, as Ryan finally starts to move. Shane lets go of his hands like he’s letting go of reins, but Ryan keeps going.

_Because every time he pulls me near, I just wanna cheer—let’s hear it for the boy!_

Ryan lets his eyes flutter shut and he just lets go. He’s always been kind of high strung and maybe, some might say, uptight; he deserves a break now and then. Going to a bar with Shane, as friends, just to blow off some steam—it’s what he needs right now.

That, and the alcohol is definitely starting to get to him. That makes it a lot easier.

When Ryan opens his eyes again, his forehead is dripping with sweat and Shane is grinning down at him. It kind of feels like they’ve been dancing for an eternity, but the same song is still going overhead.

Ryan acts on instinct, goes with the rhythm. As Deniece Williams sings, “ _but he loves me, loves me, loves me,_ ” he drops lower and lower with each repetition. He comes back up _almost_ flawlessly as the song plays, _“But we always have a real good time_. _”_

“We do,” Ryan shouts over the music.

“What?”

“We have a good time!” Ryan grins at Shane, and Shane smiles back.

“Yeah, we do,” Shane agrees. His hands finally drop from where he’s been waving them around and settle seamlessly on Ryan’s hips.

Ryan twists under Shane’s grasp, not to get away but to get closer, and when he looks up again his face is nearly tucked up against Shane’s neck. He has to lean back to look at Shane’s face, and his heart skips a beat at what he finds.

Shane’s eyes, hooded and low, a flush staining his cheeks like nothing Ryan’s ever seen.

Ryan swallows again, and watches Shane’s eyes dip down to stare at his throat.

“I gotta—I gotta pee,” Ryan says as he slips out of Shane’s grip. He turns tail and all but runs through the crowd. He doesn’t even know where the bathrooms are, but it’s not _that_ big of a place. He doesn’t expect to get lost, but that’s pretty much what happens. He takes a wrong turn and is only stopped by a man in another tight pink shirt who points to the ‘Employees Only’ sign hanging above them then points across the room to the bathrooms.

Ryan books it. His head clears fractionally as he makes it into the bathroom. The music is duller in here and it’s not as warm. He looks at the line of urinals, but he doesn’t actually _have_ to pee, so he hurries into a stall. He closes and locks the door behind him before sitting down on the seat and holding his head in his hands.

This is what he wanted, isn’t it? His crush on Shane culminating in something more than them _just_ being coworkers, more than _just_ being best friends. His heart is hammering almost painfully in his chest, but it’s not anxiety. Or, if it is, it’s competing with adrenaline. He shakes his head in his hands and tries to clear his thoughts.

So, maybe Shane is interested in him. That’s a good thing, right? Ryan’s dick certainly seems to think so, given that he’s half hard in his pants. Why did he run, then? Shane wouldn’t hurt him. Might make fun of him, sure, but never hurt him.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the adrenaline, but Ryan can feel his resolve strengthening. He’ll go back out there, dance with Shane, and maybe possibly work up the nerve to kiss him. And then they’ll go from there. Solid plan.

Ryan looks up at the graffiti’d bathroom door and takes it all in. It’s pretty tame stuff, phone numbers and silly sayings and shit like that. It mellows him out and even makes him laugh a few times. His gaze shifts to his right as he reads endless trails of drunken scrawl, until he sees a hole in the wall separating the stalls. And not, like, a small hole. A very deliberate, carved out hole. With several arrows pointing at it.

Ryan gulps, decides that’s enough for now. He stands and wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans and finally unlocks the stall door. There’s no one else in the bathroom, thankfully. He ambles over to the sink and washes his hands, then splashes some cold water against his face.

He dries his face and hands with a shitty paper towel, steels himself, and then strides out of the bathroom.

Shane’s waiting for him, leaning up against a nearby wall and scrolling through his phone. “Thought you died in there,” he says just loud enough for Ryan to hear.

“Nope,” Ryan says as he gets closer. “Just had a small gay panic, but we’re good.”

Shane finally looks up, his face illuminated by the screen of his phone until he clicks the lock button. He pockets his phone and stands up a little straighter. “Yeah?” There’s an interesting mix of interest and concern comingling on his face.

Ryan doesn’t stop once they’re within a foot of each other; he keeps walking until he’s in Shane’s personal space, like they had been on the dance floor. Shane’s hands hover for a moment, like he isn’t sure what to do with them, before settling on Ryan’s hips a little awkwardly.

“Sorry,” Ryan admits softly. “It’s all good now.”

Shane studies him for a moment before nodding. “Awesome,” he says, like he did before. He tugs at Ryan’s hips with a nod back to the dance floor just a doorway away. “Back to dancing?”

“Hell yeah.”

Shane’s hands leave his hips to link their fingers together instead. As they walk, Ryan talks over the music and hum of people.

“There’s a glory hole in that bathroom.”

Shane falters in his steps. “What?”

“There’s a glory hole. In that bathroom.” Ryan points over his shoulder for good measure. “It’s got arrows pointing to it and everything.”

Shane raises an eyebrow. “Huh. Guess they’re living up to the name.” That sets them both off into a burst of laughter that carries them back into dancing.

They slip back onto the dance floor just in time to hit their stride to the chorus— _feel the city breakin’, and everybody shakin’, and we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive_. They fall back into dancing easily enough, but Ryan swears he can taste the palpable tension mounting between them. It’s almost like he never ran off, because Shane is staring at him with the same hooded eyes and the same flush across his cheeks.

“The Bee Gees really get you going, huh?” Ryan says before he can stop himself.

Shane blinks. Then, he bursts out laughing yet again. “Yeah, sure, that’s _definitely_ it.” He shakes his head affectionately.

Then he leans down and kisses Ryan. It’s sudden but not sudden at all, and Ryan pushes up into it. He wraps his arms around Shane’s shoulders and opens his mouth, shivering when their tongues brush. Ryan moans softly into the kiss and Shane’s hands tighten on his hips.

“Definitely the Bee Gees,” Shane says as they break apart, voice hoarse.

Ryan smothers his laugh in another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from "the power & the glory hole" by faster pussycats


End file.
